


if i wait long enough

by zach_stone



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Eddie Kaspbrak-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Meeting Before Derry, Panic Attacks, Pre-Chapter 2, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 12:47:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21476242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zach_stone/pseuds/zach_stone
Summary: Eddie rounds the corner and very nearly slams into someone, and his irritated “watch it!” dies on his lips when he looks up and sees who it is.“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Richie Tozier says, smiling.--Or, Eddie and Richie forget each other, but they keep ending up in each other's orbits during the 27 years apart. In the meantime, Eddie pushes back against the fears his mother has rooted in him.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 49
Kudos: 553





	if i wait long enough

**Author's Note:**

> the first scene of this fic came to me in a vision, and then the rest just sort of followed. i'm not really sure if it's coherent, i just had a lot of feelings about eddie and also about meeting-before-derry aus, so here we are! again! 
> 
> it is safe to assume that any fic i write is in an eddie lives universe, so please have that in mind as you read this, thank u.
> 
> content warnings: panic attacks, general sonia kaspbrak awfulness woven throughout, and parental death

“— _ and _ did you see they shut down the ice cream shop on Main Street? The _ ice cream shop, _Eds! It’s a fucking injustice, is what it is.”

Eddie resists the urge to bang his head against his desk. Richie is sprawled out on Eddie’s bed, his feet dangling over the edge because he refuses to take his shoes off but respects Eddie’s very real threats of bodily harm if he puts his dirty Vans on Eddie’s comforter. He allegedly came over to do homework, but so far Eddie’s been staring at his half-finished chemistry worksheet while Richie runs his mouth about, seemingly, whatever comes to mind. Eddie doesn’t know why he’s even surprised after all these years. 

“Richie, I really don’t give a shit, okay, I’m trying to do my homework,” Eddie sighs.

Richie lolls his head to one side so he can give Eddie a look. “Just let me do it for you, I already said I would.”

“I don’t _ want _ you to do it for me, _ I _need to actually learn this shit so I can pass the fucking final so I can get a C in this stupid class!” Eddie exclaims. “What if I don’t pass chemistry and then I don’t get into college and it’s all because you kept distracting me, huh? What then, Richie?” 

Richie blinks at him, his eyes enormous behind his glasses. “Alright, sheesh. Don’t get your panties in a twist, Kaspbrak.” He mimes zipping his lips and then turns his head to face the ceiling again. Eddie scoffs, clicking his pen a couple times in irritation, and then returns his attention to his work. He’s barely started to scrawl an answer to the next question when Richie pipes up again. “But really —”

Eddie sighs loudly. He might as well just give up on doing homework — Richie’s clearly not going to actually do any work himself, and if Eddie’s honest (which he never will be about this, not out loud) he’d much rather be talking to Richie about something silly than trying to do his work. He’d much rather be talking to Richie than doing most things. He sets down his pen, spins his chair so he’s facing Richie properly, and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

Richie, seeing that he has Eddie’s full attention, grins. He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. “Remember how you always used to buy me ice cream when we were kids?”

Eddie smiles, glancing to the side to stave off the blush he feels creeping up his neck. “I only did that so you’d stop trying to lick mine.” 

“And then I did it anyway,” Richie says.

“Yeah, because you were a little terror,” Eddie says.

“What, are you saying I’m not now? I’m touched, Eds.”

“No, now you’re a big terror, you dumb giraffe.”

Richie cackles, falling back against the bed, and Eddie bites down on his lip to hide his own smile. It’s always incredibly satisfying to make Richie laugh; even if Richie seems to laugh so easily at anything Eddie says, it still feels like a triumph. “Eddie Spaghetti gets off a good one!” Richie says, still giggling. “Actually, you know what, that wasn’t even good. You gotta get new material, Eds.”

“Oh, that’s _ bold _coming from you, dipshit, you’ve had the same three ‘your mom’ jokes in rotation since we were like ten, you fucking ignoramus,” Eddie retorts.

“God, I _ love _ it when you use big words,” Richie says, dropping into an exaggerated Lusty Voice. Eddie kicks out his leg and sticks his socked foot in Richie’s face, shoving him. Richie yelps, smacking Eddie’s calf. “Agh, get offa me! You always fight dirty, you little creep.” 

Eddie smirks, victorious. “That’s what you get.”

Richie shoves Eddie’s foot out of his face and sits up again, adjusting his glasses. _ “Anyway,” _he says dramatically, “my point is, every fucking year this town gets worse. I bet you they’ll shut down the arcade next.”

“Are you actually surprised that Derry sucks?” Eddie asks. “I feel like we kinda figured that out four years ago.” 

Richie shrugs. “I mean. Yeah, I know. I just didn’t think it’d _ keep _getting worse, after…” He looks away, and they both shift uncomfortably. 

They try not to talk about it, these days. The horrors of that summer when they were thirteen still plague Eddie’s nightmares, but it’s been a long time since then. The seven of them don’t really hang out anymore, not like they did that summer — Beverly stopped writing them letters only a month after she moved to Portland, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he hung out with Mike or Ben. Richie’s the only one he still sees pretty much every day, because Richie insists on climbing through his window most nights to pester him. Old habits die hard. 

“One of these days, I’m just gonna drive the fuck out of here and never look back,” Richie says. “You and me, Eds. We should just run away.”

“Sure, Richie,” Eddie says, because Richie’s been saying that since they were little. “Where would we even go?”

“I don’t know, anywhere we want! California, maybe,” Richie says. He grins like he’s picturing it, and Eddie could see Richie in LA — a hotshot in Hollywood, maybe. He’s not really cool enough to be in Hollywood, but he’s got the unearned confidence to make it there. 

“I don’t wanna go to California, it’s too fucking hot,” Eddie says, just to be contrary. 

Richie rolls his eyes. “How the hell would you know? You’ve never even been there. But fine, we don’t have to go to Cali. Where do _ you _wanna go, Eddie my love?” 

Eddie’s cheeks burn. Richie doesn’t call him nicknames like that very often these days — it was one thing to say it when they were little, but they’re nearly eighteen now, and things are just. Different. Words like that carry more weight. Still, every once in a while, when it’s just the two of them, he’ll say it. It never fails to make Eddie feel so fluttery and nervous that he wants to throw up.

“I don’t know, dude, why are we even talking about this? It’s not like it’s actually happening,” he deflects, looking away again. 

“It could,” Richie insists. “We could leave tomorrow, Eds. Fuck Derry. We can do whatever we want, I have a car.” 

“Richie…” Eddie looks up, and Richie is staring right at him, and his expression is dead serious. Eddie frowns. “What about graduation? That’s like, two months away. We can’t just drop out of school, how would we get into college?” 

“Maybe I won’t go to college,” Richie says.

And that, okay, that pisses Eddie off. “Are you fucking serious?” he demands. Richie blinks at him. “Dude, you have a fucking straight-A average, you could get into any school you fucking want! And your dad makes good money, you have a fucking _ college fund, _ meanwhile I have to bust my fucking ass to make sure I don’t flunk chemistry so I can maybe, _ maybe _ get a scholarship so I have a chance of getting the hell out of Derry, or else I’m gonna end up at — fucking Eastern Maine Community College, half an hour from home.” His fists are clenched against his knees, and he’s so _ angry, _ because Richie wants to run away but Eddie doesn’t have that option, Eddie can’t just up and leave with no warning or plan. He just — he _ can’t. _

“Jesus, Eds, I’m sorry,” Richie says, sounding dumbstruck. He’s just _ staring _at Eddie, with his eyes all big and magnified, and Eddie can’t look at him. His heart is pounding in his throat. He wants to throw something. “I wouldn’t —” Richie pauses, swallows. “I wouldn’t let you get stuck here, Eddie. I’m serious, after graduation we can —”

“Richie, just stop,” Eddie says harshly, because he feels like he’ll break into a hundred pieces if Richie makes any more promises like that. “Shut up about running away, okay, it’s stupid.” 

Richie’s face falls, and he flops back onto the bed to glare up at the ceiling. “Okay, fine, whatever. Maybe I’ll run away with Bill instead.” 

Eddie laughs sharply. He feels hysterical, all of a sudden. Of course Richie wants to run away with Bill — Bill is brave and charming and Richie’s probably in love with him, just like everyone else is. It’s stupid, to feel so hurt by such an obviously flippant remark, it’s just… he wants Richie to want to run away with _ him, _specifically. But really, Richie just wants to get out of Derry and he’s scared of being alone, he’d take anyone. It figures. Eddie’s eyes are stinging. He’s such an idiot. 

“Yeah, okay, go ahead and fucking run away with Bill then,” Eddie snaps. Richie is staring at him like he’s just been slapped. Eddie has no idea how this all got out of control so quickly. “You know what, just go home, Richie, I need to do my fucking homework.”

Richie stands up. His mouth twists, like he’s about to say something, and instead he just shoves his hands through his hair, making a frustrated noise. “Whatever, Eddie. I don’t know what your fucking problem is.” He and Eddie glare at each other for a few more seconds, and then Richie turns on his heel and stalks out of Eddie’s room, slamming the door shut behind him. He’s lucky Eddie’s mom isn’t home. 

As soon as he leaves, Eddie puts his face in his hands and screams. He feels so impossibly stuck, like Derry is quicksand and he’s being swallowed up into it. It’s easy for Richie to talk a big game about running away — where would they go? How would they afford it? It’s a huge risk, and they’d just end up broken down and penniless on the side of the road in middle America, and probably get axe-murdered. It’s _ stupid. _

It’s stupid, and Eddie wants it so badly he could cry. He wants Richie to want him by his side when he escapes — he wants them to get out together. And now maybe Richie’s finally decided Eddie really is a lost cause, and before he knows it Richie and Bill are going to drive off into the sunset together and Eddie will be all alone, trapped in this house with his mother who wants him to go to EMCC and then rot in Derry forever. 

He doesn’t realize he’s starting to panic until he notices his vision tunneling, going dark around the edges. He feels like he can’t breathe properly, and he tries to stand up so he can go to the bathroom, where he knows there’s an inhaler tucked away in the medicine cabinet, but his legs don’t want to cooperate and he ends up sitting on the floor, his back pressed up against his bed. There’s a whistling, gasping sound that he realizes belatedly is his own breathing. His chest hurts, god, he’s having a heart attack, he’s going to die in Derry right now and he’ll never have gotten out —

A warm hand grabs his shoulder, pulling him into a sideways embrace, and then someone is taking his hand, lacing their fingers together, and Richie’s voice breaks through the buzzing in Eddie’s ears. “Eddie, Eddie, it’s okay, just breathe. I’ve got you, take a deep breath.”

Eddie sucks in air and lets it out gustily. He blinks a few times and Richie’s concerned face swims into focus. Richie reaches out, tentatively touches the side of Eddie’s face for a moment before pulling away. He’s still holding Eddie’s hand, crouched next to him on the floor. Eddie takes a few more steadying breaths. His face feels sticky, and he realizes he must've been crying. 

“I thought you left,” he whispers.

Richie shakes his head. “I forgot my backpack,” he says. He sounds scared. “Eddie, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset —”

Eddie yanks Richie into a tight hug, and Richie’s arms go around Eddie immediately, like it’s instinct. Eddie presses his face against Richie’s shoulder. “Please don’t run away with Bill,” he mumbles stupidly. 

Richie huffs out a surprised laugh. “Eddie, that was — I was joking, Eds, I don’t want to run away with Bill. I wouldn’t just leave you behind, numbnuts.” 

Eddie sniffles, trying valiantly not to start crying again. “You better fucking not,” he says. He releases Richie and sits back, leaning against the bed, and Richie grabs his hand again. They used to hold hands more as kids, Richie grabbing Eddie by the wrist or interlocking their fingers while he dragged Eddie around the Barrens or down the sidewalk to the arcade. Wherever Richie went, Eddie followed. 

His hands are bigger now, and they feel like grown-up hands. Eddie’s suddenly thankful that his face is red from crying so Richie won’t be able to see his blush. 

“We’re gonna graduate, and we’re gonna go to college,” Eddie says quietly. He looks sidelong at Richie, whose face is somber. “That’s my way out, Rich. That’s how it has to be for me.”

Richie nods. He looks down at their hands. “Okay, Eds. We’ll do it. And then we can go wherever you want.”

Eddie smiles faintly, and Richie smiles back. And then, because he feels like his lungs are about to collapse from the weight of all the feelings in his chest, Eddie says, “It _ is _fucked up about the ice cream shop, though.” 

Richie laughs, and lets go of Eddie’s hand so he can toss his arms up in the air and exclaim, “Right?!” and Eddie feels both bereft at the loss of contact and slightly relieved.

\--

Nine years pass; Eddie doesn’t remember that afternoon and he doesn’t remember Richie Tozier. What he _ does _remember is his mother’s voice in his ear, telling him that New York City is filthy and dangerous and he’ll never find work there anyway, doesn’t he know he’s setting his sights far too high? He’s too delicate to survive in a city where traffic laws are treated like suggestions and people can mug you and stab you and leave you bleeding out in Times Square. He’d ignored her, because he was desperate to escape her cloying grip, but now he’s starting to wonder if she’s been right all along.

He’s just gotten out of an interview with an insurance firm for a junior risk analyst position, and he’s pretty sure he did fucking horribly. He felt sweaty the whole time, his heart pounding hard enough that it was distracting — his mind listing out heart failure symptoms automatically — and they’d smiled thinly at him and given him handshakes like cold fish when it was all over. Eddie walked out of the office and took the elevator down with a cold stone of failure sitting in his stomach. He isn’t even sure he _ wants _to be a risk analyst, it’s just something he thinks he could be good at, and he wanted to believe he was capable of everything it’d take to get him there. 

And now, of course, it’s pouring rain. Because why not! The universe is giving him a clear fucking message: Eddie Kaspbrak, you’re _not_ _capable _of this. Your mother was right, mommy knows best, someone’s got to protect you from yourself. 

He shuffles out from under the narrow awning above the building’s front doors and is immediately drenched, rain soaking his suit jacket and creeping down his neck under his collar. He shivers, crossing his arms to his chest and fast-walking to the curb so he can hail a taxi. _ Not too fast, Eddie-bear, or you’ll slip, _his mother’s voice intones from the back of his mind. He slows his pace and comes to stop at the edge of the sidewalk, trying to hail a cab. Two, then three, drive right past him. 

“Motherfucker,” Eddie hisses under his breath. He starts thinking about hypothermia, and common colds, and pneumonia. He feels like a drowned rat. 

“Hey, man,” a voice to his left says, and Eddie turns warily, fully expecting to be mugged right outside this very nice office building. Instead, he just sees some tall guy with a big umbrella standing there, his face obscured. “You need a little shelter, buddy?” the guy says. He bounces his umbrella up and down a little like he’s trying to be enticing. 

Eddie frowns. This is _ not _ normal behavior, this guy’s definitely not from New York. He feels the knee-jerk reaction to tell the dude to fuck off, but he _ is _ getting soaked and anyway, there’s something about this guy’s voice. He sounds too genuine to be trying to mug Eddie. _ If you’d just stay home, I could keep you safe, why don’t you ever want me to keep you safe, _his mother’s voice wails, an echo of her voice when he was eighteen and throwing himself out the door for college. He shoves the memory aside, lifts his chin and says, “Yeah, actually. Thanks.”

The umbrella lifts up, and Eddie awkwardly steps underneath it. It’s got a wide radius, but he still has to stand practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Umbrella Guy, which isn’t ideal. He glances up to get a proper look at the man’s face. He looks young, probably around Eddie’s age, with big Buddy Holly glasses and a mess of brown, wavy hair. He’s smiling down at Eddie, and Eddie feels a familiar swoop in his stomach that he quickly shoves down. It’s too late, though — his gut has already acknowledged that this guy is attractive, and Eddie can feel his face heating up, so he gives Umbrella Guy a tight, awkward smile and then turns to face the rainy street again, sticking out his arm in another fruitless attempt to hail a cab. 

He can feel the dude’s gaze still on him, and when he glances sidelong he’s still _ staring _at him, smiling almost hopefully, like he wants Eddie to say something. This goes on for nearly a minute before finally, Eddie sighs and looks at him, raising an eyebrow. 

Beaming like that’s all the permission he needed, Umbrella Guy says, “I just got out of an audition for SNL. It went _ really _well, so, might wanna start memorizing this face.” With the hand not holding the umbrella, he gestures in a circle around his own face. 

Eddie stares at him. “Um. Okay.” The guy’s face falls slightly, like he was expecting more, so Eddie tries, “Congratulations?” 

“Thanks,” Umbrella Guy says, brightening again. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Eddie repeats dumbly.

“Why’re you standing outside in the rain looking like a drowned rat?” Umbrella Guy prompts. Eddie grimaces, swiping a hand up to push back his rain-slicked hair. He _ knew _he looked like shit. “I’m kidding,” Umbrella Guy adds quickly.

“I, uh, just got out of a job interview,” Eddie says, hooking a thumb back at the building behind them. “Pretty sure I blew it, though.” 

“Nah, I bet you did better than you think,” Umbrella Guy says easily, like he knows literally anything about Eddie. “It’s all corporate bullshit, they have to make you think you fucked up so they can feel powerful. That’s why I never bothered with that shit.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Eddie says uncertainly. 

“I definitely am,” Umbrella Guy says. He sticks out his arm, and a cab pulls up to the curb almost immediately, to Eddie’s irritation. He tries not to be too distraught at the impending loss of the umbrella — it’s been nice to have a couple of minutes out of the rain. 

But then, to his surprise, Umbrella Guy just reaches forward to open the cab door and gestures to it, looking at Eddie expectantly. 

“Oh,” Eddie says, blinking. “Um, what?”

“C’mon, I wasn’t just gonna leave you out here with no cover,” Umbrella Guy says. “Go ahead, I’ll get the next one.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie says, baffled. He ducks into the cab, wincing at the wet squeaky sound of his clothes against the vinyl seat. 

Umbrella Guy puts his hand on the top of the cab and leans in, smiling, and Eddie wonders for the first time if this guy’s been flirting with him. Why else would you offer to share your umbrella with a stranger? God, if Eddie got any more flustered he might actually start steaming under the collar. 

“Good luck with that job,” Umbrella Guy says.

“Uhh — yeah. Thanks. You too?” Eddie manages. 

The cabbie clears his throat pointedly, and Umbrella Guy raps his knuckles on the roof of the cab before stepping back and shutting the door. Eddie buckles his seatbelt and tells his driver the address of his hotel, and then he glances out the window. 

Umbrella Guy is still standing there, and when he sees Eddie looking, he waves. 

\--

It turns out Eddie didn’t entirely screw up his interview after all, because he got the job and now, after four years with the company, they’re sending him to a conference in Miami. Eddie’s never been to Florida before, and he’s not entirely thrilled about the concept — he has a very specific recurring stress dream of giant, pointy-toothed jaws opening up to swallow him whole, and he’s pretty sure they belong to an alligator. If he sees one walking down a sidewalk, he’s going to flip his shit. 

He manages to make it through the first day of the conference gator-free, and afterwards he walks from his hotel to a restaurant where a couple other people from his company are getting dinner. About halfway there he passes a theater with people filtering in the front doors, and something about the name on the marquee makes him slow to a halt.

**FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY:**

**RICHIE TOZIER**

Eddie stares at the name so hard his head hurts. He’s still staring, brow furrowed, when someone behind him says, “Are you trying to melt the sign with your mind or something?” 

Eddie startles, turning around to see — the fucking Umbrella Guy from four years ago, of all people. He’s still got the same glasses and messy hair, but he’s dressed nicer than last time Eddie saw him, a maroon blazer pulled over a dark T-shirt. 

Before he can even begin to say anything, Umbrella Guy’s face lights up with recognition. “Hey, it’s you! Wow, what’re you doing in Florida, did you get that job?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, taken aback. “Uh, did you ever get on SNL?”

He can’t believe Umbrella Guy even _ remembers _ him, but then, he _ had _ just gotten out of a really good audition; he probably remembers everything about that day. Eddie doesn’t quite have the same excuse — he’s had dozens more bizarre experiences living in New York the past four years, but the swoop in his stomach the moment he lays eyes on Umbrella Guy again is all the reminder he needs.

Umbrella Guy laughs. “Yeah, for like five episodes before I got fired for saying ‘fuck’ on the air too many times.” He’s grinning, clearly not all that broken up about it. “Onto the next big thing, though.” He gestures behind Eddie, up at the marquee, and Eddie turns to look at it again. “That’s me,” the guy — Richie Tozier, apparently — says helpfully. “I’m headlining, baby.” 

“Are you a… musician?” Eddie asks slowly, turning back around. Richie laughs again, and Eddie feels oddly pleased, even though he’s entirely thrown for a loop by this whole encounter.

“No, dude, I’m a comedian,” Richie says. “Hey, you wanna come to the show tonight? It starts in an hour, I can comp you a ticket.”

Once again, Eddie wonders if Richie is hitting on him. The thought makes him nervous, and the way a not-insignificant part of him wants to flirt back makes him even _ more _nervous. “That’s — I would, but I’m on my way to dinner right now. I’m here for work, so I can’t really — thank you, though,” he fumbles. 

Richie smiles, looking a little embarrassed himself. “Hey, it’s cool. Next time.”

“Next time,” Eddie agrees nonsensically. “Well. Anyway. Good luck tonight.”

“You know, the proper term is ‘break a leg,’” Richie says.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. Break your legs then, Richie Tozier.”

It has the effect Eddie was hoping for: Richie cackles. “Not bad, dude, not bad.”

They stand there smiling stupidly at each other. Eddie mentally shakes himself and says, “Alright, well, bye,” and starts quickly walking away. 

Going to the show would be a risk — he’d be skipping an important business dinner, and worse, he’d be allowing himself to get a little more drawn in to whatever it is about Richie Tozier that’s so appealing to him. 

_ Men like that are dangerous, _ his mother’s voice says. The thought enters his mind unbidden, and he flinches, stopping in his tracks. He barely knows a thing about Richie Tozier, but he knows his mother would _ hate _him. Something burns in Eddie’s gut, a familiar, angry seed of rebellion, and he spins on his heel and marches back to the theater, where Richie is still standing outside. 

“You know what, actually, I’d love to see your show,” Eddie says, and Richie startles and looks over at him. Eddie’s not sure what his own face is doing, he feels like he’s blazing some sort of righteous determination that probably makes him look insane, but Richie just grins. 

“Rad! I’ll — here, come with me, I’ll get a ticket for you.” Richie is already walking over to the ticket booth, and Eddie scrambles to follow. Richie talks to the guy behind the counter and a moment later produces a ticket, which he hands to Eddie. 

“Your ticket, sir,” Richie says grandly, and Eddie snorts, taking it. “I gotta get backstage, but, uh — stick around after, if you want. We can grab a drink, or — or something.” He shifts his feet, smiling nervously.

“Okay,” Eddie says. His heart is in his throat, beating out an anxious rhythm of _ what are you doing, what are you doing. _No sense of self-preservation whatsoever, his mother would say. 

He sits in the theater, his seat at the back of the orchestra section, and watches people fill up the room. It’s not a sold-out show, but it’s fairly close. Eddie is impressed. He has no idea why he’s here, but he starts to get a little jittery at the promise of _ after. _ Getting drinks with strange men is something Eddie has never once done in his life — never even _ considered _— and maybe it’s stupid and dangerous but it also thrills him just to think about it. 

He thinks Richie is appealing the way that New York was when Eddie was eighteen: larger than life, an unfamiliar variable, and he wanted more than anything to prove he could survive it. What the hell that even _ means _when it comes to drinks with a stranger he met four years ago, Eddie isn’t sure. Some things are still too risky to put to words.

The house lights dim, and Eddie straightens in his seat, not sure what to expect, because he’s never been to a live comedy show before. Richie has been nothing but wide smiles and awkward friendliness, so he has high hopes.

His hopes are, to put it mildly, entirely smashed by the time Richie’s been onstage for ten minutes. It’s like he’s an entirely different person, his jokes sound wrong coming out of his mouth, and the way he talks about his love life is borderline misogynistic. _ Definitely _ not _ flirting with me, then, _ Eddie thinks, and tells himself resolutely that he’s not disappointed, because he’s _ not. _

He shoots out of his seat the moment the show’s over, power-walking out of the door and heading to his hotel without a backward glance. He hadn’t laughed once. He feels incredibly stupid. _ What did you expect? _

That night, in his hotel room, Eddie looks Richie Tozier up on YouTube and watches a compilation video of him from four years ago, of all the times he broke and started laughing and cursing on SNL. It’s endearing. How had he been so entirely different onstage? Eddie sighs and shuts his laptop, scrubbing his hands over his face and squinting around the hotel room, only lit by the bedside lamp now that he’s shut his computer. 

He can’t think about it. He’s spent years _ not _thinking about it, the way his lungs tighten and his heart twists when he looks at men. He can’t think about it, can’t give it a name. He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of the flowcharts from one of the presentations he attended earlier in the day. Everything is easier to approach in a chart or a spreadsheet. It’s contained, that way, giving no room for Eddie to spiral. He’s a danger to himself when he lets his mind wander.

It’s better this way. He shuts off the bedside lamp and very pointedly doesn’t think about Richie Tozier again. 

\--

Eddie is 35 years old, and his mother is dead. He’s sitting in his aunt’s living room in Portland for the memorial, and he feels like he wants to scratch all his skin off — his suit is itchy, and his tie is too tight. Maybe he’s allergic to wool all of a sudden. He tugs at the sleeve of his suit jacket and tries to regulate his breathing. 

He’s probably a terrible son, because he’s thinking about wool allergies instead of the fact that his mother is dead. It’s just strange to wrap his head around, because he’s been carrying her voice in his mind for so many years, reeling him back in anytime he gets a fit of foolishness and tries to step outside of his comfort zone. And being here, in his aunt’s house surrounded by memories and reminders of his mother, it’s like he’s being smothered again by her coddling. Sometimes he wonders if she’d have been happiest if she’d been able to straitjacket him. Come to think of it, his suit is starting to feel like a straitjacket, or like it’s cutting off his circulation, maybe he should —

Eddie stops. He takes a deep breath. He just needs… a minute. Or several minutes, away from all of this. Quietly, hoping no one will notice, he ducks out of the living room where everyone is gathered, and walks down the hall to the front door, where he exchanges his dress shoes for boots and grabs his coat from the closet. He’s just shrugging it on over his blazer when his aunt rounds the corner.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she says. She looks so much like his mother that it makes him cringe instinctively, like he’s twelve and about to be scolded for daring to go skip rocks by the river. 

“I, uh — tissues. We need more tissues,” he lies wildly. “I was just going to run down to Hannaford’s to get some?” 

“Oh.” His aunt’s expression softens. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of you, Eddie dear. Don’t take long, it’s cold out.” 

“Sure, be back soon,” Eddie agrees. He zips his coat up to his chin and hurries out the door before she can say anything else. When he closes it behind him, he takes a second to lean up against it, breathing in the biting cold of the November air. It feels like the first full breath he’s had all day. 

He walks down the block to the grocery store, because he might as well, now that he’s said he will. He takes his time meandering the aisles, unzipping his coat and taking a moment to loosen his tie a little. Finally, he takes a roundabout way through the store over to the toiletries aisle, where he grabs a box of tissues and then starts making his way back over to the registers.

Eddie rounds the corner and very nearly slams into someone, and his irritated “watch it!” dies on his lips when he looks up and sees who it is.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Richie Tozier says, smiling. He’s got a trapper hat on and a heavy, unzipped coat. He looks ridiculous.

Eddie takes a quick step back, hating how flushed his face is already. He clutches his tissue box protectively to his chest. “What the fuck are you doing here? Are you stalking me or something?”

“Considering _ I’m _the one with celebrity status, you’re the more likely stalker candidate, bud. I don’t even know your name,” Richie points out.

“I’m not fucking stalking you, I’m here for my mother’s memorial service,” Eddie snaps. Richie’s eyes widen, and then, to Eddie’s utter disbelief, he huffs out a laugh. “Why exactly is that funny to you?”

“No, no, sorry, it’s not — it’s not funny,” Richie says quickly. “It’s just — I’m here for my dad’s funeral.” His voice drops off at the end, going quiet and uncertain, like he’s not used to saying it. Eddie notices, now, that he’s holding a bottle of whiskey. Beneath his unzipped coat, he’s also in a black suit, and he’s even still wearing dress shoes. 

Eddie winces. “Oh. I’m — I’m sorry. Uh, for your loss.” 

“Yeah, same to you,” Richie says, lifting the whiskey bottle in a mock toast. “You grew up out here too, huh?”

“Uh, a little further north, but yeah,” Eddie says. “My mom was buried in the cemetery in my hometown, but her family’s all down here, so…” He trails off, not sure why he’s sharing all of this. He loosens his death grip on the tissue box.

Richie nods. “My parents retired in Portland a couple years ago. Dad wasn’t even that old, he just — um. He got sick.” He glances down, clearing his throat. Then he looks up, eyes oddly bright. “Hey, what _ is _ your name, anyway?”

_ Don’t talk to strangers, Eddie-bear. Don’t talk to strange men. _“Eddie,” Eddie says. He shifts the tissue box so he can hold his hand out, and Richie juggles his own shit before shaking Eddie’s hand. His hand is warm, a little sweaty. Eddie knows his own hands are clammy, and he doesn’t miss the way Richie flinches at first contact.

“Cold hands,” Richie tells him. “Nice to officially meet you, Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. 

The handshake is definitely lingering. Eddie thinks about Richie’s aggressively heterosexual comedy show. He watches how Richie is watching him now, with his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Richie meets his gaze and drops Eddie’s hand. 

“Sorry about — your show. I couldn’t stay,” Eddie blurts out. 

“Oh,” Richie says, blinking. “Right. It’s cool. I, uh, I figured.” 

The silence between them is getting increasingly awkward. Eddie starts to say, “Well, I should get going,” at the same time as Richie says all in a rush, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

Eddie stares at him, his ears burning. _ “What?” _

“Not — not like that,” Richie says, tripping over his words. “I just mean. I snuck out of the funeral, I was… it was getting a little too heavy for me. So I was just gonna go find someplace to drink and be sad alone, and I just thought, well. You seem like you were also doing that. Without the drinking, which is stupid, because if any situation calls for drinking, it’s this, Eduardo.” 

“Okay, _ not _ my name, first of all,” Eddie says, because for some reason that’s the first thing he can coherently string together. “And second…” He hesitates. He has a memorial to get back to, a mother to mourn. A straitjacket to climb back into. “Yeah, fuck it, sure. I know a place we can go, actually.” 

“Oh, okay,” Richie says, clearly not expecting Eddie to agree. He smiles. “Lead the way, Eds.”

“Still no,” Eddie says over his shoulder, already fast-walking down the aisle toward the front of the store. Richie has long legs, he can fucking keep up. 

They pay for their things, zip up their coats, and head out into the chill once more. Eddie remembers exactly how to get where he wants to go, even though he hasn’t roamed these streets in decades. Eddie leads, and Richie follows. 

The playground is thankfully deserted, which Eddie had expected. It wasn’t a popular spot to go when he was young, and it’s not exactly drawing in kids now when it’s snowy and damp outside. 

“When I was a kid, my mom would drag me here on holidays and shit, to visit her family,” Eddie tells Richie, as they trudge through the frosted-over grass toward the play structure. “Sometimes I just needed to get away, so I’d sneak out and come here. It’s a good place for thinking.”

“Sweet,” Richie says. He hoists himself up onto the play structure and wedges himself onto the little landing, letting one leg sprawl out onto the slide. His leg is long enough (and the slide is short enough) that it takes up the whole length of it. He pats the small amount of space left on the plastic floor. “Hop on up.”

Eddie squeezes in next to him, and for several minutes they pass the whiskey bottle back and forth in comfortable silence. Eddie tells himself that it’s just the lack of room, or perhaps the cold air, that’s making them sit so close together: their shoulders brushing, hips touching. Eddie’s ears and nose hurt from the cold, but the whiskey burns warm down his throat, settling like a hot pool in his stomach. 

He doesn’t let himself think about the fact that he’s putting his mouth on the same bottleneck as Richie, for a number of reasons that don’t all have to do with transmitting germs. 

Instead, he’s thinking about his childhood, the vague memories he has of sitting alone on the swings here during Thanksgiving, knowing it was only a matter of time before he had to sneak back into his aunt’s house through the bathroom window so his mother wouldn’t know he’d been gone. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Eddie says, breaking the silence between them. Richie looks at him, confused. “About your dad.”

“Uh, not really,” Richie admits. “I mean, I don’t know. He was a cool guy. I think he got me more than my mom did. Does. She still doesn’t know what to do with me.” He laughs ruefully. Then, side-eyeing Eddie, he says, “Do _ you _want to talk about it?” 

“Why’d you say it like that?” Eddie asks, snagging the bottle from him and taking another sip. 

“I mean, usually when people ask shit like that it’s because _ they _want to talk about it, and are just being polite,” Richie says. He gestures to Eddie with a sweeping motion. “So, take it away, Eddie.” 

Eddie opens his mouth, intending to protest, and then he closes it again. And then, quite abruptly, he just — starts talking. He tells Richie about how his mother always treated him like he was breakable, was always so certain he was going to get sick, that he _ was _ sick (“She actually — well, she told me I had asthma when I didn’t, I had like an aspirator and all these pills I didn’t need.” “What, like that fucking Munchausen shit?” “No, god, she didn’t _ make _ me sick, she just said I _ was _sick. It was like, sugar pills, you know?”). Eddie hasn’t spoken it aloud before, how he feels like he can’t trust himself because he never knows what instincts are his mother’s worrying and what instincts are his own, and which he should even follow. 

“And, like, now she’s gone? And I don’t really — I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. There’s this, this woman back home, someone at work introduced me to her, we’ve gone out a few times, and I. God, this sounds weird, but she reminds me of my mom. Like, I mean, she’s got a, uh, a mothering disposition. And I think, maybe I should stay with her, you know? Maybe I need that.” 

Richie stares at him in silence for a beat. Eddie tugs at his own coat sleeves, pulling them over his icy fingers, just for something to do. 

“Eddie,” Richie says finally. “I don’t mean to be rude, but your mom sounds like a fucking nightmare, dude.”

Eddie lets out a sharp, startled laugh. “Yeah,” he says, when he’s calmed down again. “Yeah, she kinda was sometimes. But she… she meant well, I think. I don’t know.” 

Richie shakes his head. “It sounds like she really fucked you up, man, and now you’re trying to get with a girl who’s gonna act the same way? Do you even like her?”

Eddie frowns. Myra is… she seems nice enough. She’d offered to come with him for the memorial, which was kind given that they’d only been on three dates, but Eddie couldn’t wrap his head around having Myra _ here, _ with the ghost of his mother looming. Myra is _ not _his mother, but, well. It would’ve been a bit too much. 

“She’s fine,” he tells Richie.

Richie’s eyes bug out. “Okay, Eddie? On the list of answers to convince me that this is a chick you could see yourself with for the long haul, that was the wrong fuckin’ one, pal! She’s _ fine?” _

“I don’t know!” Eddie flings his hands up. “I don’t know, okay? I — I just — I’m trying.” He scrubs a hand over his face, huffing out a sad little laugh through his fingers. He doesn’t tell Richie that it doesn’t matter, he’ll never be able to love any woman like he’s supposed to. Instead, he says, “Sometimes I think I have a death wish.” 

“What the hell does that mean?”

“My mom would always say shit like _ are you trying to die young, do you want that? _ whenever I’d, you know, try to do some shit that I couldn’t handle. I’d climb up a tree or ride my bike until my legs hurt and she’d get so upset, like it was hurting _ her.” _Eddie shakes his head. 

“That doesn’t sound like a death wish, dude. That sounds like you were being mothered to death and you were just trying to _ live. _Jesus.” The whiskey bottle is half empty and held limply in Richie’s hand.

Eddie’s stomach twists, half from the booze and half from the knowledge that Richie is right, and it pisses him off, because where the fuck does he get off being right about this? What the fuck does Richie know? He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he hears himself spitting, “What the fuck do you know, Richie?”

“I —”

“You don’t know me, bro! You don’t know my life, or my mom, or anything about me! You — you don’t know if I’m _sick, _you don’t — _shit, _you don’t —” Eddie feels panic like a vise around his throat, tightening. He paws at his tie, trying to yank it loose, but his breath is starting to wheeze out of him, and he pulls his knees up to his chest, gripping his kneecaps with white-knuckled hands. _Asthma attack, throat closing up, collapsed lung, _his mind supplies in rapid succession. 

“Eddie, hey,” Richie’s voice is so soft Eddie almost can’t hear it over his own gasping breaths. Richie’s arm goes around Eddie’s shoulder, his fingers lacing through Eddie’s own, and Richie squeezes firmly. “It’s okay, man, just breathe.”

Eddie struggles to regain control of his breath, and it feels like an eternity before it starts to even out. He closes his eyes, sick with shame. Richie is still holding his hand, and Eddie aches. He opens his damp eyes and turns to look at Richie, who is gazing at him with open concern. 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie mumbles. He swipes at his eyes with his free hand. “I think — I think maybe I’m a little fucked up.” 

Richie laughs, not unkindly. “Yeah, you might be.” He leans in a little closer, so they’re practically sharing breath, and Eddie’s eyes drop to Richie’s mouth before he can think better of it. Richie notices, and inhales sharply. Then he closes the remaining distance between them, and they’re kissing.

Eddie has never kissed a man before, and it feels like his chest cracks open with the revelation that is Richie’s lips against his. It starts out soft, mouths closed; and then Richie’s mouth opens slightly, his tongue presses against the seam of Eddie’s lips, and suddenly the kiss deepens. Eddie’s hand is clutching the collar of Richie’s coat. Richie’s hand is on Eddie’s face, cupping his jaw, his thumb moving in a gentle arc across Eddie’s cheek. They kiss, and kiss, and Eddie’s mind quiets, narrowing down to the sensation and the stillness of the early evening air. 

Richie is the one who pulls back first, panting for breath. His trapper hat is crooked, and Eddie can see a few strands of hair poking out over his forehead. He’s flushed, and his expression is a mix of giddy and terrified. Eddie’s sure it’s reflected in his own. 

“Um,” Eddie says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. His brain supplies, _ I guess he _ was _ flirting after all. _

“I’m sorry,” Richie interjects. “For — not for that, but before. What I said about your mom, and your girlfriend. You’re right, I don’t know your life. You just seem… really unhappy, and I think you’d be happier if you didn’t stay with that woman. That’s all.”

“So, you’re sorry, but you’re still going to give me unsolicited advice,” Eddie deadpans, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

Richie notices, and he starts to smile, too. “Pretty much. In my defense, you’re the one who wanted to unload your trauma.” 

“Yeah, alright,” Eddie concedes. He glances over to the whiskey bottle, which apparently got knocked over during their impromptu kissing and is now spilling amber liquid through the little holes in the plastic floor and onto the dead grass below. “Oh shit, whoops.” 

Richie follows his gaze and shrugs. “Eh, probably about time to stop anyway.” He looks around at the way the light is fading, the sun setting in the gloomy grey sky. “Shit, I should head back.”

“Yeah, me too.” Eddie climbs ungracefully off of the play structure, feeling unsteady on his feet as he watches Richie climb down, too. 

They look at each other, neither saying anything. Finally, Richie says, “Hey, could you… please not mention that to anyone? It’s just, you know, with my career, and I’m not — I mean, no one knows I’m —”

“I won’t say anything,” Eddie assures him. “I’m not gonna sell you out to some gossip column, Richie, come on.” 

“Right.” Richie smiles, embarrassed. “’Course not.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Can I have your number? Maybe next time we cross paths it can be, you know, on purpose.” 

For once, Eddie doesn’t let himself think about what his mother would say. He just takes the leap, and trusts that his constitution isn’t so delicate that he can’t handle the landing. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.” 

When he gets back to his aunt’s house, everyone is asking where he’s been. “Did you get the tissues?” his aunt demands, staring at his empty hands. 

Eddie realizes he left the tissue box at the playground. He winces. “Um, no.” 

\--

Eddie and Richie do not see each other again, but they text, very occasionally. He’s not really surprised that it turns out this way — they barely know each other, one drunken evening of trauma-sharing aside, and Richie is in the public eye. Over the next five years, Eddie watches through YouTube and social media as Richie’s popularity rises. His jokes still sound false and wrong coming out of his mouth, still aggressively _ straight, _but Eddie gets it. 

He broke things off with Myra when he got back from the memorial, but that doesn’t mean he’s gotten any closer to coming out than Richie. The best progress he’s made is an internal acknowledgement that _ coming out _is a phrase that could apply to him. He likes men. Getting to that point of self-recognition took long enough. 

Eddie is forty years old when he receives a call from Mike Hanlon and crashes his car into a taxi while driving to a business meeting. He sits in his barely dented Escalade while the cabbie, whose car is considerably more damaged, calls the police. Eddie lets everyone at the meeting know that he won’t be in attendance after all, and he exchanges insurance information with the cab driver and waits until the cops tell him he can leave, and then he drives back to his work. His body aches from whiplash, his chest and shoulder a throbbing bruise where the seat belt cut into his skin. 

He walks as quickly as he can without full-on running until he gets to his office, and then he shuts and locks the door and sits down on the floor with his back pressed up against his desk. He shuts his eyes as memories wash over him, hazy but growing clearer the more he thinks about them. 

One thing became clear almost immediately, and that was Richie Tozier. Eddie pulls out his phone and calls him. 

“Eddie?” Richie answers. Eddie can hear music playing, soft and muffled, from Richie’s end of the line. 

“Hi,” Eddie says. His voice comes out rougher than he meant it to. He clears his throat. “Did — did you get a call from…”

“From Mike?” Richie says warily.

“Yeah.”

Richie breathes out an audible sigh of relief. “Yeah. Shit, I was hoping he’d called you already, I — fuck, Eds, I’m in Chicago right now, I’m supposed to be doing a show, I fucking walked offstage. I’m locked in my green room now, my agent’s going to flip his shit.” 

“I crashed my car,” Eddie tells him.

“Oh fuck, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, barely a scratch.”

“Right, because you drive that fucking tank. I remember now.” Richie laughs. Eddie tips his head back until it touches the particleboard of his desk. He shuts his eyes and listens to the sound of Richie’s voice, his breathing. 

“Do you remember that day, senior year of high school,” Eddie begins, “when you asked me to run away with you?”

Richie huffs out a breath that might be another laugh, or it might just be surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, I remember.” 

“I really wanted to, you know. I wanted to go everywhere with you.”

“I know.” Richie sounds wistful. “Well hey, offer still stands, if you want.”

Eddie’s eyes sting with tears, and he laughs wetly. “Don’t fucking tempt me, Tozier.” 

“I’m serious, Eddie. You say the word, we fuckin’ dip. We don’t have to go back.”

“Except that we kinda do, Rich,” Eddie says. He feels so tired, all of a sudden. Maybe it’s the adrenaline from the crash leaving his system, or maybe he just can’t carry all his worrying anymore. He’s exhausted, and he’s going to need all the fight he has in him to face whatever’s waiting for him in Derry. He can’t fight the pull of it anymore. 

“...I know,” Richie says quietly.

“After all this shit is done, though,” Eddie tells him. “After that let’s fucking do it, for real.” 

“Anywhere you want, Eds,” Richie promises. “Wherever you wanna go, I’ll follow. I guess that’s been true even when we didn’t remember each other, huh?”

Eddie clutches his phone hard to the side of his face, and wishes Richie were there so he could touch him. He wants Richie so tangibly that it hurts. “I missed you, Rich.”

A choked sound that could be a laugh or a sob. “Fuck, don’t get all sentimental on me, Eds. I missed you too.” 

For a long time, the dark pit in Eddie’s stomach didn’t have a name, but now he knows that it’s Derry, like a black hole trying to suck him back in his whole life. And now he’s going to go marching back into its jaws, the manifestation of his fears, the place that made him feel fragmented and small and weak. But it was also the place where he learned how to be strong, learned that he _ could _ live through pain, that maybe bones were breakable but Eddie Kaspbrak was not. So he’s going to return, and he’s going to destroy the last reminder of the cage of fear his mother tried to trap him in. 

And then he and Richie will get in a car, pick a direction, and drive — anywhere they want to go.

**Author's Note:**

> and then they kick pennywise's ass and eddie is FINE and he and richie run off together to be in love. i promise.
> 
> title is a very brief lyric from "white cedar" by the mountain goats, but if i could put the entire song as the title for this fic, i would. give it a listen for some big eddie emotions. 
> 
> comments always appreciated! hmu on twitter @hermanngottiieb if u want more nonsense from me. ok byeee


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